


i've been blacked out 4 days. u coming over tonight?

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), The 1975 (Band)
Genre: M/M, also melissa told me to post it bc she loved it and here i am, it ended up here so, not originally meant for ao3 but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I miss you and it isn't fair.</p><p>(alternatively, matty writes harry a letter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've been blacked out 4 days. u coming over tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> hello team! sorry another matty/harry thing i can't help myself
> 
> this really has absolutely no context at all and i'm posting it because melissa told me to (thanks mel) and i hope it's not too shit
> 
> it was inspired by [this pic](http://33.media.tumblr.com/c2c5c40c68bc58b9724c11b5de0b6e03/tumblr_n9fah025Ty1ti6qozo1_r1_500.jpg) (even though i don't really know how)

I miss you and it isn't fair. I see you everywhere. You’re on magazines and the telly and the radio and fuck, I even saw you on a double decker when I was in London last weekend. You’re in my hair and my clothes and my books and I can’t get rid of you, like a stain that won’t come out no matter how hard you scrub it.

We were good weren't we? For a bit? I don't how 'you' and 'me' ended up as 'us' but it did and I'm happy for it. I don't know if I should be. We were an odd pair, too right. The Popstar and the Poet, always managing to bump into each other into the most ridiculous locations, like we'd just been dropped into circumstance and ended up in the same club loo on a Saturday night.

Nick never understood how we worked, didn't see how our personalities settled with each other. You, with your drawling monotone and award winning grin and me, muttering at 50 miles an hour and taking too much coke that would have been good for me. If any coke's good for you, that is. I don't think he was jealous, I just think he was at a loss, and he never liked that. Never liked not being able to read people, and their relationships, what made them tick. 

I asked him about you the other day, all off-hand and casual, so unlike me. He knew the second I asked that I wasn't OK. He ignored it though, pretended I wasn't hurting. He said you were good, you still wore ridiculous shoes and expensive headscarves, you still managed to charm the age out of grannies and the knickers off girls. I laughed at that, genuinely laughed. You were always so contrary, the most polite boy when talking to the girl with cancer and then the filthiest one in bed. I loved that about you. I still do, actually.

I can’t go back to that corner anymore, you know the one. You with your limbs everywhere and me pretending to be so cool and our teeth knocking together like two teenagers behind the sports building. I think about that day a lot. Maybe if I’d never told you how I felt then I wouldn't be sitting here right now onto my fourth fag and my eighteenth sheet of paper. I should’ve left with some rock n’ roll integrity, should’ve written a song about the “what if?” rather than writing fifty about the “what was” and then pulling them to pieces the moment I’d finished them. 

What I write scares me sometimes. It never did before I met you.

I thought that of the two of us, I would have been the one to fuck up. I guess I was wrong about that, as well as everything else. What you did wasn't fair you know? You shouldn't be allowed to do that to people, lift them up like God and then drop them like a commoner. Even my Mum said so, she was stacking away the dishes and she said "You know that Harry's completely to blame for this don't you love? You didn't do anything wrong. You loved him. Nothing wrong with that." 

I couldn't breathe when she said that. Because she was right. Charming, cheeky Harry, the one that ruthlessly broke my heart and didn't even bother to clean up the mess.

I take pills more than I used to. They don’t work. If anything it makes me miss you more, but I don’t have any alternative, so I take and take and take but instead of it erasing the memory it just fucking intensifies it like a bad joke. Like a bruise that’ll never heal, a sore that keeps weeping. Every time I’m offered something I remember the flash of your eyes and the steady “Be careful” emitted from your lips. I get that now. I thought you were being boring, you weren't. You just wanted me to be alright.

I’m not alright. I don’t know if I ever will be thanks to you. I know that sounds bitter and twisted but you know what I’m like, i’ll bring down any ship that dares sail with me. I miss you so fucking much Harry and it’s not fair because you always look on cloud fucking nine and I always feel like I’m drowning. Every photograph and every song sounds like you're having the time of your life and I don't know how you can do that. Wipe me and us away like pen on a whiteboard.

I hope it was all worth it. Every last bit of it.


End file.
